


Burn a Little Darker

by snarkymonkey



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Absolutely shoddy science, Alternate Universe, Assassin!Thranduil, Corporate Espionage, Elves are just another species, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Marked for Death, Scientist!Bard, Threats of Violence, depictions of violence, not immortal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymonkey/pseuds/snarkymonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Bard Bowman has been attempting to develop an affordable method of storing energy only a miscalculation leads him to creating a rather deadly energy weapon instead.  As he struggles to find a way to keep it safe and out of the wrong hands, he finds his life is suddenly under fire.</p><p>Thranduil, meanwhile, has made a living as a contract killer for over ten years.  He asks no questions and cares little for the impact he leaves behind.  But things are not adding up this time around and when he discovers why, he starts to see that perhaps none of his previous hits were quite what he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     Bard yawned and shoved his glasses up his forehead, rubbing his eyes.  The time on the screen read just after two in the morning.  _Shit._   So close, though.  So close to finalizing the damn thing.  Not that he had the time any longer.  What good humor the Master had toward him was fading.  He had to find a solution quick before the man realized what Bard had been doing all this time.  It had been why he’d moved the bulk of his lab work to the satellite offices.  Too far out of his way but at least it kept the Master out of his work. 

     Not that he believed it would last.

     He wasn’t stupid.  The original prototype of the Arrow had been dangerous.  _Still_ dangerous.  Not that he’d intended it to be.  His goal had been simple:  a non-obstructive way of storing renewable energy.  But like most things, the translation from theory to practice proved difficult.  Due to a careless error, he now had a rather lethal _weapon_ on his hands.  And further research hadn’t helped him find a way past the mistake.  Taking out the pathways that made it destructive only managed to turn it into an expensive, useless paperweight. 

     It might not have been such an issue had it not been for Alfrid.  Bard had been testing the Arrow at his previous facility when his demonstration _“_ failed.”  And that annoying assistant to the Master had been on hand, his eyes lighting up at the result.  After that, the Master came calling offering a hefty pay raise and limitless equipment.  Against his better judgment, Bard had accepted. 

     To this day, he wished he hadn’t.

     He did what he could to hold the Master off.  Any questions about the Arrow’s location he deflected with vague asides or lies that the prototype wasn’t yet ready for another demonstration.  That it still failed when he tried to use it and that the reaction Alfrid had seen had been a fluke.  It hadn’t been though; far from it.  But the last thing he wanted was for someone like the Master to gain control of it.

     To his dismay, he _still_ hadn’t found a way around that dangerous talent.  Its ability to release energy in a sudden burst had been a surprise.  He’d blown a hole through the wall of his previous lab when he’d discovered it.  Once the dust had settled, he programmed what locks he could; not that he had much faith in them.  Even a high school hacker would knock the barriers back. 

     More than once, he’d considered going to authorities.  But on what?  All he had were suspicions.  The facilities were clean, the other scientists he met – few though they were – always appeared content.  And his children were finally cared for.  He hated himself for that, but the pay kept him quiet.

     He sighed, chin resting on his hand.  He bit down soft on his finger, thinking.  If he had _something_ to show, it might make it worth the attempt to contact somebody.  Though, _who_ that somebody would be eluded him.  Still, he tried.  Whenever safe, he searched any records he could for incriminating information on the Master.  Other than the bizarre moniker, he’d come up empty.

     Another night down and still no closer to a solution.  Hell, he couldn’t even think straight at this point.  Disappointed in his lack of progress, he saved the file he’d been working on and reached over to pick up a pencil.  In his exhausted state, though, he fumbled it straight off the desk.  He stared at it for a moment, frowning.  “Traitor,” he grumbled.  With a weary sigh, he shifted in his chair, snagging it off the floor.  At the same moment, he heard a sharp crack and pop.  He bolted back upright and stared.

     His screen was dead.  A hole in the center where the monitor cracked and spiraled in all directions.

     “What the hell?” he muttered.  It looked like . . . a bullet hole?  He spun in his chair to see a similar hole in the glass window behind him.  Recognition dawning like a lightning bolt, he threw himself out of his chair and onto the floor, a second before another pop.  And still in view of the window, even low as he was.  Grunting, he rolled to his stomach.  Adrenaline surging, he crawled to one of the empty desks, hiding behind it. 

     He tried to collect his scrambled thoughts, hoping it had been nothing more than a stray bullet from some drunken asshole firing rounds in his backyard.  Even as he considered the idea, he realized how wrong it sounded.  He was out on the edge of town.  Industry and miles of leased office spaces.  Unless a cop had gotten a wild hair up his ass, someone had _aimed_ for him.

      He shut his eyes, swallowing, his heart still thundering in his ears.  Why, though?  What did he have that would make anyone want him dead?  Running his fingers through his tousled hair, he looked again toward his desk.  His drive containing the Arrow’s schematics and attempted failsafes was still connected.  And he wasn’t stupid enough to leave it where anyone – namely Alfrid – could find it.

     Holding his breath, he shifted into a crouch and peered around the edge of the desk.  Too much light inside his lab.  He couldn’t see out.  He could, though, see the two neat holes in the upper left of the plate glass window.  He ducked back behind his barrier and breathed out, shaking.

     All he needed to do was yank the drive off the connecting USB cable.  His jacket and bag were by the door, hopefully out of view of the window.  Or, at least, enough out of the way that he could get out without a bullet coming for him again. 

     His legs trembling, he took another deep breath.  With an awkward leap, he collided with his upturned chair and fumbled for the drive still connected to the computer.  He yanked as his fingers closed over it, the computer casing jumping under his fingers as a third shot slammed into it.  He rolled out of the way, scrambling for the lab door.

     Frantic, he tore his jacket down from the hook, ripping the hangar from the wall in the process.  Plaster dribbled into his hair and he shoved the door open, his hand complaining at the sudden force.  He stumbled to his knees and rolled onto his back to kick the door shut with both feet.  The inset glass of the lab door shattered and rained down on him.

     He panted, staring at the ragged hole. 

     “What . . . the fuck?” he rasped.  He gave himself a few seconds of confusion before he jumped to his feet and raced for the parking lot.  He _hoped_ no one waited for him on the other side of the building.  Praying to the Valar, he hurtled out the back door, the parking lot dark and quiet but for his car and patrolling security’s vehicles.

     “Fat lot of good you assholes are,” he muttered as he raced to his car, yanking the door open and falling into it.  Panting, he jammed the key into the ignition and tore off, tires squealing and rear-end fishtailing. 

     He didn’t start breathing slower until he was a few miles from the institute.  Once he did, he pulled into a late-night diner’s parking lot and shook.  He didn’t know how long it took for his body to calm down.  Once he did, he leaned back, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

     On the seat beside him sat the little hard drive he’d been carrying with him since college.

     Dread welled up, making him sick.  The Arrow.  It was the only explanation.  Someone had found out about the Black Arrow.

     “Shit,” he whispered.

 

~~*~~

 

     Thranduil swore, jaw tight as the door snapped shut.  He shot out the glass window out of frustration.  Bloody bastard was quick, he would give him that.  It should have been an easy kill given how the fool had sat in the midst of a pool of light.  But then he had dropped a _pencil_ of all things. 

     He cursed again at the placement of the small office building.  He _had_ a backup plan but this had not been the ideal scenario.  The little scientist had managed to make it personal.  He’d much rather put a bullet in Bard’s head.  He could have taken the time to rig the man’s car, but Thranduil’s obsessive need for completion meant he _needed_ to watch his marks drop from _his_ actions rather than some hidden incendiary device.  Unfortunately, this also meant that the scientist the Master had sent him to kill would live for another night.

     Thieves and murderers didn’t last long under his watch.  And this one, according to the brief dossier, had a rather nasty reputation for unethical testing of industrial chemicals on unwilling subjects.  He didn’t ask why the Master hadn’t turned him into the authorities.  As high-paying as it was, he took a bit of satisfaction in knowing that he’d get rid of yet one more piece of filth. 

     To be honest, the Master always left his skin crawling.  But, the bastard was well-connected and had sent a great deal of work Thranduil’s way for over ten years.  All high-paying, high-risk jobs.  Easily completed.  He took the pay and did as asked; no reason to ever change that.  He knew enough to know that _no one_ would miss the marks. 

     The lowest of the low.

     Strange how someone as odious as the Master could try to be such a paragon in terms of society.  Occasionally, Thranduil found himself wondering about that but would immediately shy away, unwilling to examine his own actions for long.

     Death was death; it came for everyone, eventually. 

    Scowling, he lowered his gun and dismantled it, setting it back in its case.  While it irked to lose a mark over something so _arbitrary,_ he had no doubt he would complete the contract before long.  A bit more research on the man and he’d know right where to take him out.  The Master’s information had been strangely brief on this mark. 

     Dr. Bard Bowman.  Thirty-eight.  Unmarried.  Expert in chemical research.  Other than that, few facts remained.  Handsome man, though.  The picture he had was of the staff photo the Master provided.  Dark eyes, ear-length black hair.  Rugged.  In another time and place, Thranduil would have been more than willing to _chat._

     He stiffened at the sound of squealing tires.  Rising, he peered out the window of his hiding place in time to see an old Mustang peel out of the side access road and head south.  He smiled grimly at that.  It either meant the man would become foolish or reclusive.  Not that it mattered much.  Thranduil was persistent when necessary.

     He locked his gun case and collected the rest of his gear, slipping the straps over one shoulder.  He left the room he had been hiding in and made his way back to his car.  The sleek, black Audi R8 sat under a drop cloth on the other side of the dumpsters; far away from the other late-night workers in the office building.  If he remembered correctly, some customer service center took up the lower two floors.  People far too busy to note a single individual.  He doubted anyone would ever know that a gunman had sat above them.  Granted, _someone might_ find it odd one office was now down a single pane of glass.

     He yanked off the cloth, balling it up and shoving it in the back seat of his car.  The gun case and his surveillance gear dropped atop it with a soft thud.  He turned, watching the building behind him as he dug out a small, black device.  One last step.  He tapped out a number sequence before hitting the small silver knob. 

     “Three, two, one,” he purred, seconds before a roar and tremble.  His car rocked slightly and he slid inside, shutting the door and fastening his seatbelt.  He could hear the whining pop of metal and glass, drowning out the frantic shouts of those pouring out of the building.  The glow of the flames lit the night, even from his obscured location.  He waited another ten minutes before starting the car and rolling forward, heading for the far exit of the parking lot.  As he’d expected, the customer service employees were too busy taking photos of the fire across the street at the lab with their phones or calling emergency vehicles to notice him leaving.

     Taking his time, he headed out to the main road, the red-gold flames arching high into the night sky across the street.  Glass and wood scattered the pavement, the alarms inside the building shrieking in distress.  The flames danced in his rearview mirror as he turned left, heading opposite Bard’s headlong escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs* I'm doomed by this pairing!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

     Bard made it handful of feet from the diner before he heard it.  A deep thud he _swore_ he felt through the seats.  He slammed his foot down on the brakes, the Mustang shuddering to a halt.  Through his driver’s side window, he could see a reddish glow fill the night sky.  The few customers of the diner spilled out into the parking lot, a cluster of confusion in his rear-view mirror.

     So, he _hadn’t_ imagined it?  He dug his phone out of his jeans and found the news, the red banner of _BREAKING NEWS_ flashing in his eyes.

      _Explosion at an office building owned by eccentric billionaire, Master Lake.  Investigation underway._

Bard’s heart thundered in his throat and he thought he’d be ill.  The shooting he could _almost_ ignore.  Maybe the long hours he’d been putting in had driven him mad for a few minutes.  Wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’d run across in the past.  But an explosion?  Minutes after he’d managed to save his own hide?  Too close for comfort.

     He gulped air, struggling to calm himself.  Someone _was_ trying to kill him.  He knew that now.  Which meant he _couldn’t_ go home.  But the kids . . . he pulled up his phone again, dialing into the security system of his house.  He set the alarm, routing it to go direct to the police station as he did.  The house would look like a landing zone now but better he annoy his neighbors than lose his children.  They would be safe for the night. 

     But would _he_?  He’d calmed a bit, his heart steadier but his nerves near gone.  The tiny crowd continued to point in the direction of the lab and its destruction.  None acknowledged Bard and his skewed driving.  Taking advantage of the distraction, he drove off a second time, veering down a side street toward the heart of the city.

     His panic eased as he drove, though, it didn’t stopped him from checking his mirrors as the street lights flashed past.  He half expected another bullet to strike at any moment.  As a result, he was jittery as a meth addict when he reached his destination.  He pulled to a hard stop on the street, shoving the car door open.  He turned back and reached over to grab his drive, halting when he heard the click.

     The rigid chill against his back turned his guts to water.  _No.  No!  I was safe here!_   Still holding his drive, he shifted back slow, lifting his hands as he attempted an awkward clamber out of the car.

     The pressure increased.  “It’s a bit too early for this game, don’t you think?” a familiar voice cautioned.  The gun shifted.  “Bard?”

     Bard knees wobbled in relief and he fell against his car, rolling to his back to face his friend.  “ _Valar_ damn it, Haldir!  Do you always greet people that way?”

     The elf grinned.  “I do when they show up unannounced at three in the morning.”  He lowered his gun, letting it hang against his thigh.  “Which reminds me:  _Why_ are you here at _three_ in the morning?”

     Heart slowing, Bard shut his car door and pushed away from the car.  “Haldir, I need help.”

     The elf tilted his head and nodded.  “Clearly, you need to learn how to tell time.”  When Bard didn’t join him in his humor, he sobered.  “What is it?  What’s happened?”

     Bard waved him toward his house.  “Inside?”  When the elf nodded, he asked, “Uh, Haldir?  Why were you _armed_ and up at three?”

     Haldir smiled over his shoulder without humor.  “You know me well enough not to ask that.”  He clicked the hammer back on his gun and slid it into the back of his waistband.  “Come inside.  Are the children here?” he asked, voice soft and low.

     He shook his head.  “Home.  I, uh, put the system on overdrive, though.”  Haldir had been the one to link Bard’s security system years ago.  He’d complained about it being an unnecessary complication at the time but he thanked the Valar he’d not had it removed.

     Once inside, Haldir bolted his door, punching in a quick code.  The lights outside dimmed, the living room light turning on with a soft glow.  Haldir held out a hand toward the room, frowning.  “You look like hell,” he pointed out.

     Brain on overload, Bard blurted, “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

     Haldir halted, eyeing Bard.  “How many days have you been working late?”

     Annoyed, Bard’s fingers tightened on his drive.  “I’m not exhausted, dammit!”  He gestured to Haldir’s television.  “Watch the news.”

     Eyebrow lifted, Haldir complied though he appeared bemused.  He flipped to the local news, his humor fading as the report wound on.  Turning the sound down to a mere murmur, he faced Bard.  “Tell me everything; leave nothing out.”

     Bard did just that, sinking into an overstuffed chair as he did.  There wasn’t much to tell but Bard let Haldir know all that he could remember.  When he reached the point of activating his security system, he went quiet, watching his friend.

     Haldir hadn’t sat down, but stood with his arms folded, one hand on his chin.  “You saw no one and nothing?” he asked.  When Bard shook his head, he frowned.  “I’ll admit, Bard, that there isn’t much to go on.”  He waved at the television, the news report now filled with lurid images of fire and emergency vehicles.  “Other than an explosion, I’m not sure there’s much you _can_ say.  Whatever might have backed up this story is gone, I’m afraid.”

     Which was likely the shooter’s intent.  Groaning, slouched in his chair, Bard dropped the drive and covered his eyes with his hands.  “I swear it!  Three times.  He – or she – shot at me three times.”  He nudged his drive with his foot.  “There’s nothing I have worth that.  Only the Black Arrow.”

     “Well, if it became common knowledge, yes.  But I don’t think the Master would admit that you had created such a thing.  Too risky.”  He wagged a finger at Bard.  “And I _warned_ you about working for the Master.”

     Bard dropped his hands and glared at the elf.  “Now is _not_ the time for an ‘I told you so,’ Haldir.”  He kicked the drive again.  “How the hell could one mistake turn this thing into such a burden?”  He cupped his chin in his hand, shaking his head.  “I should have destroyed it that day.  I should have given up on it.”

     Haldir chuckled.  “That would never have happened, Bard.  I know you far too well.  You would _never_ have destroyed something that could help people.”  He sighed, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, hands clasped loose between his legs.  “There may be someone I can contact,” he offered.

     “With what?”  Bard held out his hands.  “Like you said, that fire took out _anything_ that might have proven what happened. And if it’s the Master who’s behind this, I’ve _tried_ to find shit on him; I can’t.  There’s nothing there to pin him down with.”

     The elf frowned.  “Believe me when I say I feel there’s someone I can contact.”

     “Who?” Bard prodded.  He had enough uncertainty to last him a lifetime.  He didn’t need more.

     Haldir shook his head.  “Just trust me, Bard.”

     He wanted to protest but he sank deeper into the chair instead.  “Fine.  Do whatever you can.”

     His friend reached out and patted his knee.  “You need to get some rest.  But I’d advise you to go to work as normal, in case this is _his_ doing.”

     Bard shuddered.  “You think he’d do that?”

    He shrugged.  “Yes?  No?  Hard to tell.  I’ve found _some_ shady things on him but nothing I can back up with hard evidence.”

     Bard frowned.  “Why’ve you been looking into him?”

     Haldir laughed.  “You have to ask?”  He shook his head.  “I work security systems, remember?  Bard, he’s a bastard and his fingers are in _everything._ He’s left a trail but it’s a faint one.  I don’t like that his name crops up so often associated with unsavory characters.”  His expression hardened.  “I don’t like him.  I have my reasons for wanting him arrested.”

     “Which you’re not going to tell me, hm?” Bard asked.  Haldir was a strange one.  He’d met the elf around when he started working at the Barge Institute.  Another visiting scientific mind.  At the time, he’d assumed the elf didn’t like him given his stilted way of speaking.  Even so, he had reached out to Bard and they had been friends ever since.  Didn’t mean that Haldir let him know much.

     Too tired to argue, Bard flopped his hand.  “You know what?  I don’t even care, Haldir.  I’m tired.”  He yawned, voice distorted as he asked, “What should I do about the kids?”

     “Ada will take them.”

     “I can’t impose on Celeborn.” 

    Haldir snorted.  “Impose?  Hardly.  My brothers and I haven’t had children yet so I wouldn’t think it much of a stretch that _your_ kids are as near to grandchildren to him.”  He chuckled, reaching up to tie back his long, blond hair.  “In fact, he was just asking me how they were doing.  I think he and Mum miss them.”

     “I don’t know,” Bard hedged.

    Haldir dropped his hands.  “Let them visit with Ada.  Sigrid’s graduated from college and Bain and Tilda are likely bored this summer, yes?”  When Bard nodded, he grinned.  “Ah, see?  Decided it for you.”

     The night’s events finally caught up with Bard and he sagged a little heavier into the chair.  “Fine,” he slurred.  “I’m tired of arguing anyway.”  He chuckled at Haldir’s smug look.  “I’ll get a few hours of sleep and head in to the Institute around nine.  Think you can collect the kids for me?”

     “My pleasure,” Haldir replied.  He pulled out his phone, tapping at it for a few seconds.  “Ada will wake up to the request and I assure you, he’ll love it.”  His expression sobered.  “We’ll figure out what’s happening, I promise.”

     Bard nodded, eyes drooping.  Haldir pulled him to his feet and guided him down the hall to one of the guest rooms.  Bard barely registered the cool, soft sheets before he blacked out.

    

~~*~~

 

     Thranduil parked at one of his safe-houses, still irked at the unfinished job.  It happened, much as he hated to admit it.  Usually, a client didn’t care _how_ the job got done, only that it _was_ done.  He wouldn’t be in violation of the contract until Friday.  Given that, he opted to leave his rifle and camera gear in the backseat, rather than cart it inside. 

     He yawned and once inside, tapped a security code into the panel on the wall to his left.  A click and soft light filled the hallway.  He dropped his gloves and coat on a small table against the wall and took a right down the next hall.  The room there served as his command center.  Several large, expensive computer monitors glowed with grainy security images and other scrolling information.

     He sat down with a grunt and tapped a few keys, bringing up one image in particular.  Everything looked normal, but for one thing.  The house sat _bathed_ in light.  He frowned at that.  Those would be security flood lamps were he to guess.  And they had _not_ been on the night before when he’d driven past the modest home.

     He snorted at that.  “Ah, yes.  Run up the electricity, Dr. Bowman.  That will aid you.”  Granted, he’d not intended on completing his hit tonight.  He needed, instead, to find out where the good doctor would be next.  While the man wouldn’t be long for the world, Thranduil didn’t wish to go _hunting_ for him.

     Thranduil spun his chair and faced the laptop that sat open.  He tapped out an email under his secure site, sending it off to the Master.  While that odious man _had_ given him _carte blanche_ over Bard and what it took to recover stolen data, Thranduil doubted the man would thank him for setting the satellite lab on fire.  At least it forced Bard to return to the main institute and made his job a bit easier.

     In the process, a new email arrived, this one from Feren.

     _I’m assuming you didn’t kill him because there’s a_ fire _on the news.  You are far too flashy for a contract killer, Master Thranduil._

_Which goes to show I almost expected this.  So, I took the liberty of planting a tracker on his car earlier today.  Now, do try to_ do _something before we both grow old and senile._

     He grunted.  “Someone’s in a snit,” he muttered.  Granted, it pleased him on some level that Feren could be so frank with him.  Following his father’s death, Thranduil had been too young to understand what to do.  He’d been rudderless and dangerous; a ticking time bomb.  Feren had kept him on the straight and narrow.  Saw to it that he finished schooling and joined the military.  _Feren_ made certain he upheld the proud traditions of his ancestors.  Thranduil hadn’t the nerve to fight back.

     And Thranduil had _tried._   He’d done all Oropher would have expected.  Commendations, medals, titles; he’d done it all.  Until it happened again.  And it all had come crashing down, harder than ever.  Like before, Feren did all he could to aid Thranduil.  Though, Thranduil often wondered if Feren should have even tried.  He’d lost so much following those events.

     He hesitated a moment before tapping out a long sequence of keys.  A small security camera popped up, the view that of an immaculate desk in a dark office.  Even with the three hour time difference, it was still far too early to see Legolas at his desk. 

     Thranduil sighed, watching his son for a moment longer before shutting off the camera.            

     He focused on the old faded photo he had clipped among his monitors.  Her bright blue eyes, wide smile.  Holding an infant Legolas.  He’d cut his own form out of the photo, leaving it jagged and off-center.

     “As it should be,” he whispered.  He pulled the photo down and gave it another look before stuffing it into a drawer near his hip. 

     He half-rose, ready to turn in for the night, when an unpleasant thought chimed in his head.  He sat back down and returned to his email, tapping out a brief note.

     _Tell me he’s not investigating her death again, Cel._

It would arrive unsigned, the IP address nonexistent but his cousin would know immediately.  And, if he was lucky, Celeborn would still have the return address Thranduil had given him ages ago.  They’d spoken a handful of times since Thranduil had vanished.  Any question of his whereabouts ignored, any plea for his return cast aside.  Even as brief as their messages were, the recrimination was noticeable. 

     Still, Thranduil had already been down that vile road, searching for her killer.  He’d found _nothing_.  Only mindless, painful dead ends.  Like Oropher’s death, the _not knowing_ gnawed on him and hollowed him out.  If he could spare his son that same agony, he would.  Even if he couldn’t speak to him directly.  He’d long ago lost the right to look his son in the eyes.

     Locking those bitter thoughts away once more, he shut off the laptop.  Tired now, he rose and headed for the back of the safe-house.

     He had a contract to complete in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the angst begins. :D But y'all knew that would happen, hm? ;3 I think it's clear now that the Master has _not_ been exactly truthful with Thranduil on this go 'round.
> 
> [](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com>My%20Tumblr</a>.)


End file.
